


from strawberry to rhodes

by braithwaites



Series: the hounds of hades [3]
Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Smut, Gift Giving, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 11:10:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17487026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braithwaites/pseuds/braithwaites
Summary: Madelaine shifted closer to him on the seat. “What do you think?”The chain and locket was slender enough to easily tuck between his shirt and vest without leaving a prominent bump between the layers. There was nothing secret about their relationship, not anymore, but that small, almost painfully beautiful thing would be theirs for as long as he could help it.“I think,” he began, great ceremony in his voice as he wound an arm around her waist to guide her closer still, “that I haven't been given anything so thoughtful in a very long time.”





	from strawberry to rhodes

Dutch hated traveling long distances in a stagecoach.

Where the air was stifling and smelled of previous customers for good or for ill, where you could only feel the road without any of the added side-benefits like the sky stretched above your head or the warmth of the sun on your face.

Where you had no control.

A stray deer or errant horseback rider could cause them death or injury, simply because they hired on a driver who didn't know what he was doing.

He sucked on his teeth, nostrils flaring as he took in a measured breath before tipping his head back against the coach's brocaded interior. The comfort of the seats could not be denied, but he longed for a saddle and fresh air and the thrill of the ride.

The mountains he was willing to climb for a woman he loved.

Reaching over, Dutch rested his hand atop Madelaine's and gave her fingers a lingering squeeze. His knuckles brushed against the soft seeksucker fabric of her dress – newly purchased in Strawberry, with bold white and blue stripes and a neck frilled with guipure lace.

“You are the only good thing about this damned ride,” Dutch murmured, rubbing his thumb between her knuckles with a smile.

Madelaine shifted on the cushioned seat. She turned toward him and closed her other hand over his. “I really am sorry about this,” she told him. “I could have ridden if Cayenne was used to me, but I only just got her...”

Her eyes followed their entwined fingers as he lifted them to his mouth. The carriage jolted awkwardly, but he held tight and steady, his lips finding the winding blue veins at the back of her hand. He would not be dissuaded from reassuring his lady by a graceless driver.

“You don't trust yourself with her yet,” Dutch said. At the cautious bob of her blonde head, he smiled against the warm skin of her wrist. “You will.”

Madelaine's fingers curled over his even more tightly. He caught a glimpse of her teeth at the corner of her mouth, a flash of pearl against vermilion. Perhaps he'd spoiled her, with the dress and the horse and the lacy etching on her father's gun, but he'd been awarded with precious few opportunities to show his affection in ways apart from a heavy hand.

Though...

“Now, Madelaine,” Dutch began, his voice low and resonant in the cramped interior of the coach. “I know this may come as something of a shock to you, but—”

“Dutch?”

His brow furrowed. He hadn't anticipated an interruption. But the look on her face was quietly hopeful, and that was enough to soothe him.

He gestured for her to continue.

“While you were at the stable, I... bought you something, too.”

Dutch felt his own eyes widen. She was nothing but surprise after surprise. That had been true from the very beginning, when she charmed him in a bathtub back at the Saints Hotel in Valentine. Sweet then, sweet still, though she carried with her a bit more of a bite that could be attributed to her living with a bunch of brutes.

He couldn't be bothered to suppress the smile that rose to the surface with that thought.

“And what, pray tell, did you buy me?”

The tiny box at her side was for him. Ever since he caught her carrying it around outside of the stable, Dutch thought it might have been a gift for one of the girls. Juniper, for offering to teach her to shoot. Mary-Beth, for being a sweetheart. Molly, maybe, for not stabbing her with darning needles in the night.

But, no, the gift had been purchased with another recipient in mind. That sparked an interest in Dutch that drove him forward on the seat's cushion.

Madelaine handed him the box and waited, watching his hands close around it.

“Well, it ain't a horse,” she said, almost defensively, so wrapped up in her own nerves over the gift that her cheeks flared as red as her lips. “Or a dress, if you were wondering.”

“Not a dress?” Dutch donned his best disappointed expression. “Well, why bother?”

Madelaine snorted. Her nose wrinkled and the lines at the corners of her eyes bunched up like silk under someone's fingertips. The movement of the carriage had as much to do with the bouncing curls at her temples as her joyful laugh.

The urge to touch her struck him right between his ribs, the urge to kiss her and tell her how beautiful she was without so much as lifting his mouth.

Instead, he busied himself with the ribbon wrapped around the box. It was nearly the same dusty blue as her eyes and the stripes on her new dress, faded and soft to the touch.

He wasn't sure what the gift could be. The size of the box whittled the options down to only a few.

Madelaine stared hard in her anticipation.

Dutch didn't want to keep her waiting, so he opened up the box without wondering about its contents for too long. There was no sense in struggling around a guess when he could just as easily open it.

Sitting on a bed of cream velvet was an open-faced pendant. The chain and setting was tender gold, detailed with whorls of silver and petals painted red with a careful hand. The glass on the front was clearer than any he'd ever come across, and through that glass, he saw the sentimental element of the gift.

A single lock of blonde hair, curled at the end, held in place with a slender blue ribbon the same color as the one that bound the box.

The last time a woman got him a gift, purchased with heart, it had been Annabelle.

Dutch swallowed hard and lifted the pendant from the box, holding it in midair before tucking his head down to remove his hat with his free hand. He set it beside him on the seat.

“Your hair,” Madelaine whispered, the ghost of her earlier laugh following her words like a sweet shadow. She petted at a few flyaway strands before smoothing everything else down with her palm. The smile she wore was cheeky. Never had he seen her look so damn pleased with herself, not even in the limited privacy of his tent back at camp. “You look handsome like this.”

He wasn't the sort of man to disagree with such a thing. Instead, he slipped the pendant on over his head, flashing her an indulgent look with his dark eyes.

Madelaine shifted closer to him on the seat. “What do you think?”

The chain and locket was slender enough to easily tuck between his shirt and vest without leaving a prominent bump between the layers. There was nothing secret about their relationship, not anymore, but that small, almost painfully beautiful thing would be theirs for as long as he could help it.

“I think,” he began, great ceremony in his voice as he wound an arm around her waist to guide her closer still, “that I haven't been given anything so thoughtful in a very long time.”

Her breath shifted over the skin of his neck as she settled her head down against his shoulder. “Glad you like it.”

Dutch toyed over the bunched fabric at the curve of her waist.

“Adore it,” he said, finding that word more fitting for the feeling in his chest. The warm, sticky feeling he associated with love. He had always been soft for certain types of women. Confident, like Annabelle. Refined, like Molly. Sweet-hearted, like Madelaine. “The filigree is just as pretty as you are, my dear.”

Tilting into her proved more easily done than he expected, given the jostling of the coach. So was kissing her.

He pressed her jaw upward, tilting her face towards his as he bowed down. The visible recognition of what he wanted flickered over her face, and it was enough to change the kiss at the very last moment, from something winding and sweet to a wave of crushing heat.

Madelaine gasped against his mouth, but in that same moment, she responded in kind. She dug a hand into the curls at the nape of his neck, dragging him down farther to meet her. There was an eagerness there that he understood. And with that understanding flowed action.

The soft cushions gave beneath her weight as he laid her down against them, her pale blonde hair standing out as the pure white of snow against the dark velvet. Her cheeks burned bright red, the same color as her bitten lips.

It was the weight of the pendant dangling around his neck that drove him forward, moving him constantly forward, uncaring as to what was happening around them.

Without the aid of his hat, Dutch's hair fell forward over his brow, mixing with Madelaine's pale locks as they kissed again, almost feverishly. All hands. Too much teeth. Madelaine gasped and crooned and pushed at him with her hands, though she gripped at him at the same time.

“We can't do this here,” she protested in a voice that didn't much sound like she was opposed to the idea. “Not in a coach. _Dutch_.”

Dutch stared down at her. “We can most assuredly do this here.” His assurances were deep and full-bodied, crackling at the edges. He held himself above her, one knee on the seat and the other leg bracing himself on the floor of the coach. “In fact, you're speaking to something of an expert.”

“Oh...” Madelaine licked her lips. Just like when she used her teeth, it was nothing but a flash of pink against a background of vermilion. “Well, then.”

They both laughed. Hers, a languid chuckle, and his, almost hesitant.

“You were easy to convince,” he said, fingertips trailing from her earlobe to the tip of her chin by way of her slender jaw. “Are you sure you want to?” Dipping down again, Dutch smeared a kiss on the underside of her chin before finding her mouth, speaking without putting any distance between them. “Tell me.”

“I'm _more_ than sure, Dutch van der Linde.” He watched as she shut her eyes, felt her smile. “You're the indecisive one now, aren't you?”

Dutch braced himself on either side of her head, careful to avoid her curls.

“I am _not_ indecisive.”

He kissed her again. There was no doing anything else.

Dutch broke the contact between for what felt more like a minute than a moment before his tongue followed, sliding along the shapely curve of her upper lip. Beneath him, she shifted fitfully against the seat, her bent thighs rubbing up between his legs. The pressure was minimal, but that didn't stop him from panting against her mouth. Needy.

That neediness hadn't cropped up in years. Madelaine was digging up old pleasures with both hands. She was...

“Incredible,” he whispered, and rather than asking any questions, she flushed.

Pushing up the layers of her skirt, Dutch delighted in brushing his fingers over the length of her legs, exposing each inch more slowly than the last as his fingertips caught against the soft linen of her drawers. Upwards and upwards he pushed them until they couldn't move any farther up her soft thighs. Only then did he lift her up to get to the buttons at the back of the garment.

The buttons were small, delicate things, and they let go of the buttonholes with no more than a press of his thumb. When he brought the fold of fabric forward between her thighs, his eyes followed a sticky string that connected her cunt to her drawers.

“You're prepared,” Dutch murmured, easing the fabric upward to tuck into the waistband. “This is a, uh... a mighty appetizing view, Miss Madelaine.”

Her thighs parted, and Dutch felt his throat go dry.

“Madelaine,” she teased, even though her voice was weak.

His chest shuddered in an amused huff. He ached to be inside of her, but he could imagine that there was nothing comfortable about riding in a coach with cum dripping out of you, soaking your drawers.

“Maddie,” Dutch whispered fondly, “Can you do something for me?”

“What is it?”

She was breathless, but not as breathless as she was going to be.

Dutch's eyes met hers only briefly before he pressed her ankles together and lifted her legs sharply upward. Her skin was buttery soft and covered in blonde hair that was almost downy in nature. He'd never wanted to take a bite out of someone so badly. “Don't make a sound.”

Dipping downward, Dutch pressed his mouth to her. He felt her cunt tremble against his lips, damp and smelling faintly of oranges beyond her powerful natural scent.

Where his throat dried before, his mouth swam with drool.

Pressing his broad tongue between her lips, he dragged its tapered end upward until he could go no farther without letting go of her legs. Which he wasn't interested in doing, not for a moment.

Above him, he heard her whimper. The sound was muffled by the back of her hand or her wrist, just loud enough for them to hear over the creak of the coach and the sound of hoofbeats. That was fine. Problems would arise from anything louder, which he trusted her to avoid at all costs.

That proved to be true. Even when he lapped at her, tongue teasing downward over asshole, she managed to bite down on her knuckle to keep from squealing or crying out. Even when he pressed his forefinger carefully inside of her, she remained quiet, her breaths hitching in her chest, her free hand curling deep into the layered fabric of her new dress.

“Good girl,” Dutch murmured against the back of her thigh as he curled his fingers inside of her, rocking them forward. The arch of her body only made things easier. Her legs trembled in his grip, and he heard no more than a sharp gasp. “You have more self-control than I do. I have never met a more impressive woman. I've certainly never fucked one.”

He felt her react, felt the shaking in her thighs increase, felt her ankles shifting together in his hand.

“Dutch...” His name was soft in her mouth, almost as soft and hot as she was. “Now, I don't know if I can – if I can keep this up.” Madelaine's voice thinned, fraying at the ends like worn cloth. “Oh, Lord.”

“You can,” Dutch assured her, even as he pumped his fingers deep inside of her. “I know that you can, my dear.”

And she could.

She proved that she could.

Gripping at her legs, Dutch dragged his mouth over her tender inner thighs, fingers still plowing forward. Back and forth, back and forth. A brush of his teeth over that sensitive skin brought a delighted shiver out of his woman, but the bite that followed nearly made her arch off of the velvet seat. Her cunt fluttered around his fingers, tensing, closing around him so suddenly that his fingers were nearly pushed out. Nearly.

“There you go,” he said. The depth of his voice forced him to clear his throat. He took a slow breath and set about a different pace, focusing more on depth than speed. “Do you see why I believe in you?”

Madelaine shuddered, her feet working in his grip and the knuckles of the hand in her dress bleached white.

“Do you?” Dutch pressed.

He waited until he heard a halting, “Yes,” before laying into her again.

By the end, both of her hands closed over her mouth, her skin gone splotchy and red around her cheeks. By the end, every push of his thick-knuckled fingers brought a muffled noise out of her – quiet and thin and utterly wrecked. By the end, his hand ached, and that burn curling up from his wrist was a beautiful thing.

The driver carried on. The world flew by outside of the coach's windows, giving them an ever-changing view of the sunset as they made their way back towards Rhodes.

Without Dutch holding up her legs, Madelaine sank back against the cushions, her legs tangled up around his body. One tucked behind him, while the other sank over his thigh, the heel of her boot resting against the floor of the stage. Even in the quickly dimming light, he saw how damp she was, how sticky.

The temptation to clean her with his mouth was powerful and damned difficult to deny.

Instead, he removed a square of red cloth from the pocket of his vest – a handkerchief, one of two he often carried with him. The other was made of black silk, fringed with silver thread. But the one he had on-hand was simpler, cotton, unadorned. It was his favorite.

Madelaine pulled herself up to sit only to have Dutch guide her back down with a smile.

“I can't have you uncomfortable, Maddie,” he said, moments before pressing the unfolded handkerchief between her legs.

He followed her lips with his fingertips. Every part of him wanted to take his mouth to her again, or push his fingers inside again, or curl above her to find someplace warm and soft for his aching cock. But, he didn't. Those urges, he bit back. For her sake.

Dutch watched as Madelaine worried at her bottom lip with her fingertips, as she watched him right back. It was clear to him that she wasn't done with him, either, even if she didn't say so.

“If I had known...” She laughed, and the sound was hoarser than her usual. “I might not have worn drawers.”

Drawing the handkerchief away from between her legs, Dutch folded it again with great care before tucking it back into his pocket. Her eyes followed his hand, curious, smiling a little when she realized he was keeping the token close.

Madelaine hitched her dress up again in order to get another bit of Dutch's help with buttoning her drawers again. Over her shoulder, she shot him a flirty look that did nothing to help fight the desire to put his hands on her. If he couldn't do this for her, he didn't deserve the opportunity in the first place.

He smoothed down the skirt of her dress once she sat back down, everything arranged to look as if nothing had happened.

Only the smell in the coach sold them out.

“Ah, well.” Dutch leaned back against the seat, palms digging into his knees. Amusement crept into his voice. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Madelaine grinning behind her hand. “If the coachman catches us out, it'll have been worth it.”

She snickered, cheeks still flushed, chest still rising and falling with the breath she couldn't quite catch.

“Mm... c'est la vie.”


End file.
